Dullard-Footslaves’ Asinine Anecdotes Volume 1
Dull Anecdotes from equally dull footslaves about their dullard condition at their mistresses’ feet!
Asinine Anecdote no. 1 - Freshers’ Week
I am a rental-footslave.
Today I have been hired by a Female University for an event during Freshers’ Week. Basically, my brief is to kiss the feet and footwear of the new, 18 or 19 year-old (depending on whether or not they’ve had a ‘gap’ year) female students as they attend an open-day at the college – and to thus make them feel strong and welcome.
I am under strict instructions to show the same footslavish respect for each and every female fresher, regardless of whether or not I find her – or perhaps more importantly her dirty footwear – appealing or not (which I would always do anyway!).
Thus, during the course of today I have knelt by the outside porch of the female college entrance as a hired-out, doorstopper slave, and have kissed and worshipped all of the following:
· The black suede pixie boots, and pastel-pink, cotton bootsocks, of a pale-blue-jeans-wearing, white girl in a fetching, pink bobble-hat. I did genuinely like kissing her boots and socks as both the suede leather, and the creased cotton, felt incredibly soft on my lips – like I imagine the fresh, young woman herself would do! I also very much appreciated the decorative, black suede tassels down the sides of her pixie-length boots, even though they created extra work for me by being a bit of a street-dust trap. I therefore had to thoroughly lick them out.
· The pale green, laced up loafers and pale-blue anklesocks, with frilly, white trims, of another white girl – though this young lady was bare-legged above her anklesocks and therefore, presumably, wearing a short dress or skirt (I cannot see the young women’s uppers from my humble kneeling position – only their feet and lower legs; as it should be, for they are all my betters and I am not worthy to look them in the eye; or even in the groin!). The laced-up loafers were easy enough to the lip, but the lacy, white trims of her anklesocks ticked my footslave forehead as I kissed the wrinkles in the main body of her socks; however, I had no choice but to pay homage to her socks, as well as her loafers, as I was under strict instructions from my employers to kiss not only the young ladies’ outer footwear, but also their inner footwear – if they were wearing any inside their shoes, sandals or boots (and most of them are as it’s a relatively cold and rainy day today!). Only their bare skin is out of bounds to me – as per usual; nobody wants a dirty, rental slave kissing their bare footflesh with his dirty lips – you don’t know where he’s been!)
· The black and white spotty, thin cotton socks - in cork-heeled, wedged sandals with thick, criss-crossing, black leather straps – of a white girl wearing black-and-white-chequered, cotton trousers which only just reached down to the elasticated tops of her spotty anklesocks (that’s the only reason why I know she is white – I can just see a slither of white-girl skin above the top of her left sock, thanks to a slight kink in her left trouser-hem which expands to reveal flesh when she stretches forth her left leg onto the ground beneath my kneeling face for me to kiss her fresher’s foot on the socked-toe area!). What I particularly like about her socked toes is that, despite the toe-areas being traditionally reinforced and thicker than the rest of the socks, the overall consistency of the predominantly black cotton of her sock is so thin, I can still see her painted, red toenails underneath! Such a cheap pair of socks – yet a pair she has absolutely no compunctions about imposing on my lips! This young, white woman is proud of her toenail-exposing socks – and rightly so!
· The red-suede, black-rubbery wedge-heeled, fully laced-up, brothel creepers of a black-woolly-tighted, and presumably red-skirt-wearing (for one thing I have learnt over the years is that young women generally do like to be colour-coordinated – even down to their shoes and socks!), punk-girl of what sounds like white, East-European ethnicity. I’m only guessing she’s white, and from Eastern Europe, because of her accent and punk attitude (she is clearly listening to some sort of punk music on her MP3 player whilst having her brothel creepers, and her woolly-tighted anklebones, kissed, as I can not only hear the tinny sound of the music in the background above me, but her extended foot is also tapping to the music as I kiss it! This young woman is clearly intending to have a fun time at college – with not a lot of study; but at least she can relax knowing that she’s guaranteed to pass whatever course of study she is nominally enrolled upon; this is a Gynarchy, after all!
· The much more staid, black leather, chunky-heeled, round-toed, 5-eyeleted, laced-up shoes and plain, black cotton anklesocks beneath tight, black leather trouser-hems of a presumed black, African-Caribbean girl – based purely on her Jamaican accent as she orders me to lickshine her dirty shoes. And they are dirty – dirty and damp; she must have been caught out in the rain – probably a novel experience for someone accustomed to the glorious weather of the Caribbean. Yes, I sense that this particular, clever young lady is a long way from home, and I therefore redouble my efforts on her musty-smelling, rain-dampened footwear in order to make her feel special and welcomed to the glorious (but not when it comes to the weather!) Gynarchy. Welcome, black mistress! And may God bless your black shoes and socks!
· The black, flat-heeled, fancily-stitched, laced-up oxfords, and white anklesocks over black-cotton, ankle-length leggings, of a white girl. I know for sure this particular young woman is white because the helpful holes in the latticed-stitching of her otherwise plain, white anklesocks reveal her white skin pores beneath the sock-covered hem of her black leggings. In fact, as I kiss the socks, I can clearly see - and feel – where the leggings end, and the soft, white ankleskin begins. Nice! Apart from that, the chiselled toe-areas of her oxford-student shoes needed a good tongue-polishing as they were splashed with mud – mud which is now residing deep inside my rental-slave stomach, where it belongs!
· The clear-plastic, and somewhat muddy, strappy, flat, buckled sandals and black woolly tights – or they may even be black woolly over-the-knee socks – of a presumed white girl (again, judging only by her plummy, English accent!). Indeed, what I particularly liked about her footwear was the incongruity of its cheapness combined with her evident upper-crust accent! She was clearly a young woman who was well-used to dealing with footservants, as she knew exactly how to adopt the pose of a young dominatrix – hands on hips; each foot extended forwards beneath the kneeling slave’s face, languorously and one after the other; and all whilst texting on her expensive, mobile phone. I just love the way aristocratic, English girls don’t even have to try to look posh – they’ve just got that certain je ne sais quoi! I kissed her cheap-plastic-sandalled, aristocratic girlfeet with particular meekness and humility – for I know the meek shall inherit the sandal-mud from the feet of their betters; and I did!
· The pointy-toed, kitten-heeled, brown leather, slip-on, shoes and lacy, white anklesocks beneath black cotton leggings of yet another white girl. What I particularly admired about her was the way she had turned up the leggings of her student-girl, ankle-length, black cotton leggings to make them almost calf-length, and thereby not only ensue that a godly amount of her soft, white, feminine calfskin is on view, but also that the black cotton hems of her leggings don’t interfere with, or clash with, the flimsy, lacy-white cotton of her anklesocks. I like to think also that she has chosen this style of legging in order to give my mouth free rein on her socks! But the reality is, of course, that she hasn’t. I wasn’t even in her female thoughts when she got dressed this morning for the freshers’ open-day, since she can’t possibly have known that the College were laying on a rental doorstopper-footslave to kiss her shoes and socks by way of welcoming her on her arrival at her new college! So her exposed, white calf-skin above her lacy, white socks is not for my benefit!
· The black leather, 8-eyleted, yellow-solestitched, loosely-laced-up, doc marten boots and accompanying black, woolly tights of a calf-length-skirt-wearing white girl – white, because her prized doc marten boots are already so polished and shiny I can just make out the reflection of her pretty, blonde-framed face in them. And those boots smell good – I love the smell of fresh boot-polish; such a change from the normal aromas of musty, not to say sweaty, footleather which a down-in-the-dirt Gynarchy footslave normally encounters and has to deal with! A refreshing change - and a pair of girly bovver-boots which are deserving of my respectful kisses (I can feel some of the bitter-tasting, black boot polish coming off on my lips; must ensure I lick it all off before kissing my next, white, female anklesock!)
· Speaking of which, the next girl to step up to my marked, kneeling back (the slave-rental company I am employed by ensures its employees’ backs are always, at least partially, marked by red whip-stripes as they wish their customers to see that the rental slaves have been properly disciplined and trained!) is wearing a fetching pair of light-brown, leather, chunky-heeled, fancily-stitched, laced-up ankleboots beneath blue-denim jean-hems, and when she stretches forth each anklebooted foot for kissing beneath my kneeling face it reveals a slither of predominantly white, but also brightly cartoon-patterned, anklesock-top beneath her mixed-race flesh. I’m dying to know, of course, what the cartoon characters are on her socks, so that I can show proper respect for them whilst kissing them (I’m confident that my lips are now suitably free of black DM boot-polish once again to be fit to kiss sock!) – but first I must tongue-attend to the rain-dampened, and therefore in places darkened, brown leather ankleboots, in an effort to lick away the surface mud, and replace the dirty rainwater with my footslave-saliva (most young Gynarchy women believe that having a slave’s saliva glistening on their footwear is a status-symbol, whereas having rain-dampened footwear is just dirty and gross!). In the end I believe the partially-obscured-by-brown-boot-top, red cartoon character on the top of her right, white sock may have been some sort of animal, and the cartoon-imprint on the top of her left sock appeared to be some sort of speech bubble with words written in Romanian on them; interesting – a dark-skinned, Romanian girl; possibly Romany? Whatever, I kissed her sock-tops with a rental-footslavish fervour reserved for only the best!
· The flat, round-toed, black patent loafers and opaque, black nylon tights of a presumably skirt-wearing, and very religious, black girl. I have divined that she is black through her heavy, West-African accent; and that she is religious through the fact that I can just see she is carrying a bible in her right hand. Plus, of course, the modesty of her black, loafer shoes and opaque, dark-nylon tights, present further clues to her black-girl religiosity and righteousness. What I particularly like about her is that, for all her perfection, there are still one or two creases in her black nylons around her, rather thick and unshapely, ankles. ‘Cankles’ I think they’re sometimes called – though these dark-nylon-stockinged cankles are nice, and go with the rest of her fatted calves. Respect! I religiously lickshine the dust off her black patent leather shoe-toes, for dust I am, and to dust I shall return! Not like this girl – who will most assuredly go to heaven!
· The cute, heavily scuffmarked, brown leather Chelsea boots, and unmatching black kneesocks, of an oriental girl; Japanese I would say – judging by the sock-length! I know she is oriental not just by the hue of her kneeskin above the sock; or by the oriental petiteness of her frame; but by her giggling attitude to having her dirty, scuffmarked boot-toes lickshined by the dirty, male slave at her brown-booted feet. Quite charming! Not at all like the born and bred Gynarchy-girls, who are well used to the sensation of male lips on their shoe and boot leather!
· The flat, round-toed, black patent loafers (almost identical to those of the black girl a few feet ago, except these ones have little dust-and-dirt-collecting, black leather tassels on top of the toe-areas), and truly delightful purple, frilly-cuffed anklesocks, of a truly stunning-looking black girl, with long, dark, bare legs stretching all the way up to a pair of white shorts! I only know she is wearing shorts because of the wolf-whistles and suggestive comments made by some passer-by free men (male fresher students heading off to the adjacent male college, no doubt) whilst I am diligently tongue-shining her dirty, black loafers and kissing her soft, purple anklesock-cuffs. She doesn’t seem to mind the freemale attention, but is evidently less enamoured by my maleslave efforts on her dirty footwear, leaning down to point with a purple-painted fingernail to an area of her left instep which she feels I have missed. Sure enough, there is still a slither of street0mud near the stitching of the sole. I immediately apologise to the stunning, black mistress and vow to focus more carefully on the task in mouth.
For, if I do a good job, and don’t receive too many complaints from the fresh, young women whose dirty feet and footwear I am hired to lickshine and worship on this rainy, but joyous, day, I might even get invited back again next year – to kiss and worship the dirty footwear of the next intake of bright, young, Gynarchy-college women!
Asinine Anecdote no. 2 – A Fat, Domestic Dullard’s New Diet
My 25 year old, blonde-haired and beautiful, personal footmistress – mistress Angie – has informed me that, even though I am clinically underweight and malnourished – like most domestic footslaves in the Gynarchy – I am, nevertheless, too fat in her mistressly opinion, and she has therefore decided to implement a three-point plan to get some of the excess fat off me.
Actually, I think that it is she herself who needs to do a bit of ‘belt-tightening’, not just because she is quite overweight herself, but because times are currently hard in the recession-hit Gynarchy; and what is really going on here, I think, is that she has just lost her waitressing job, and is therefore now reliant on female welfare hand-outs from the State! But clearly – as with most Gynarchy households – when some little luxuries have to go, it’s the ‘luxuries’ bestowed upon the domestic footslave that have to go first; if not the domestic footslave himself!
Anyhow, my concerned mistress Angie has apparently decided that forthwith:
· I shall no longer be fed my meagre rations of tasteless slave-mush every day, but must instead rely on any cold and unappetising, half-chewed leftovers there may be on her plate (assuming her pet mongrel, Buster, doesn’t want them first!). If there are no leftovers, or if Buster chooses to eat them all despite already having had his fill of the most expensive dog food that she can lovingly afford to buy him every day (and assuming Buster has not left or rejected any of his dog food), then my mistress Angie will permit me 15 minutes during the evening to forage for food out on the pavements, though she points out that I will be in competition with the local rats , feral cats and stray dogs for whatever scraps of food I can find out there (my mistress lives on a somewhat rough and rundown sink-estate on the outskirts of the Gynarchy’s second city – Femina; hence her need for her guard-dog, Buster!)
· In addition to my diet of dog-rejected scraps, my mistress has decided that in order to ‘work off’ some of my excess fat, from now on – after I have performed my normal household-footslave chores of tongue-polishing her dirty shoes and boots, and mouthwashing her dirty socks and tights – instead of just kneeling and studying her freshly polished footwear and freshly laundered hosiery as per my current domestic-footslave orders, I am to carry out other, more strenuous chores around the house, namely:
Ø Cleaning her toilet (by hand)
Ø Cleaning her bathroom (by mouth)
Ø Cleaning her kitchen (by hand – since cleaning the food preparation areas by mouth would be unhygienic)
Ø Cleaning her bedroom (by mouth)
Ø Cleaning her lounge (by mouth)
Ø Scrubbing all her floors (by mouth)
Ø Hoovering all her carpets (by mouth)
Ø Cleaning her concrete back yard (by mouth)
Ø Washing her dirty dishes (by hand)
Ø Washing all her remaining clothes (by hand)
Ø Ironing all her laundered clothes
Ø Washing her soiled, bed linen (by mouth)
Ø Ironing her freshly laundered, bed linen
In short, I am to become her full-time, domestic skivvy in addition to being her full-time, domestic footslave. The only think I am not to do is prepare her food, as she doesn’t want my dirty, slave flesh anywhere near her food!
My mistress Angie reckons that all this extra skivvying activity should help to shed a few pounds off me!
- My mistress Angie says she will further help me to shed a few pounds by whipping some of the excess fat off my back and ribs. To this end she has decided to give me at least 20 lashes of the female whip every evening, regardless of how well I may have performed as a footslave-cum-skivvy throughout the day (I kiss her black-leather-ballet-flated and socked feet at this point, and humbly praise and bless her for offering to help me lose weight in such a selfless way – for whipping a slave always takes up some of a mistress’s precious, young-womanly time! Though, admittedly, she has much more free time, now that she is unemployed!)
And so, it seems, the ‘good’ times are over for me, and I must now look forward to a life of near-starvation; backbreaking toil; and regular whippings – all to ‘get my weight’ down.
It’s within my interests to comply with my mistress Angie’s tough, new regime – like I said, she can get rid of me anytime she wishes, by throwing me onto the footslave-scrapheap; or, even worse, by selling me to the underground slave-mines (that would buy a few more cans of dog food for Buster, and would guarantee me to lose weight!)
Asinine Anecdote no. 3 – Counting On Me
I am little more than a mobile footrest for my 22 year old, intellectually superior, bespectacled, Indian college-girl mistress – miss Aishwarya.
And she counts on me throughout the day to be a good and seemly, young-woman’s footrest:
· She counts on me to lie unobtrusively beneath her freshly sneakered and socked feet at the kitchen table whilst she breakfasts above me with her family. She knows I am studiously studying her fresh, white, student-girl towelling socks in the gap between her pink-rimmed upper sneaker hems and her pale blue, denim jean-hems – already noting any creases and folds in her pure, white towelling socks which may have developed already around her shapely, socked, Indian-girl anklebones – even though I had smoothed the socks onto her precious, young-womanly feet not five minutes ago, and then laced up her grey and white, low-top sneakers (with the pink rims) onto said smooth, white towelling socks. I count the fresh creases, as befits a personal footslave who is dutifully obsessed with his mistress’s socks.
· She then counts on the side of my head to protect her right sneakersole from the dirt of the floor on her bus into college, as she site with her right sneakered foot resting on my upturned cheek, whilst her left sneaker rests on the floor of the train compartment directly in front of my face. My mistress Aishwarya could, of course, if she so wished, rest both her sneakersoles on the side of my face, but she is kind enough to sacrifice the well-being of her left sneakersole, and to rest it in the dirt of the train floor, just so that I can continue to admire at least one of her white towelling socks on at least one of her shapely anklebones (on the condition, of course, that I lickclean the dirtied sneakersole just as soon as she is settled at her desk in the college library, and taste where it has been!)
· In said library, just as soon as the offending train-floor dirt has been removed by my mouth from the sole of her left sneaker, and is residing where it should be deep inside my footslave stomach, she again permits me to act as her personal footrest, lying on my back this time, with both her sneakered feet resting on my upturned face, and thereby affording me the inestimable honour of looking up her pale blue denim jean-hems to the very top of her ankle-length, towelling socks – right up to the elasticated tops where her white, cotton sock meets her smooth, bare, brown, Indian legskin. She is counting on me at such times not to take advantage of my view of her bare flesh, and to continue to focus on her white sock – which I do.
· I suppose you could say that my mistress Aishwarya is literally counting on me whilst she is seated at the desk in the college library, for she is studying advanced mathematics!
· Later, whilst she walks across the college quadrangle, she counts on me to keep up with her fast-moving sneakered and socked heels as she – fit young woman that she is – walks at a quick and sprightly pace over towards the college cafeteria (which is no mean feat on my part since I am, unlike her, rather old and decrepit, and not nearly as fit; but still I manage to crawl to heel behind her – , and to not lose sight of the backs of her white towelling socks inside the backs of her sneakers; just about!)
· She then counts on me to kneel beside her feet in the cafeteria and quietly admire her student sneakers and socks in front of her friends. She counts on me not to show her up by letting my eyes stray onto some other beautiful young woman’s sneakers, ballet-flats, or ankleboots, and to demonstrate my utter devotion to my own mistress – and, indeed, my fear and trembling of her – by focussing intently once again on her white-sock creases.
· After she gets home, in the late afternoon, she counts on me to respectfully remove her sneakers from her feet, and then sniff the day’s sweat on her socks – breathing in her foot odour, and displaying my simultaneous disgust and joy at the stinky aromas invading my footslave nostrils.
· She then counts on me to massage her stinky-socked feet with my bare hands, before changing her sweaty, white towelling socks for a fresh pair of black socks, as she readies herself for a night out on the town with her boyfriend.
· Likewise she counts on me to fetch her brown leather, zip-up ankleboots and to zip them up on her freshly re-socked feet, leaving just a slither of black anklesock visible above her now crumpled, pale-blue denim jean-hems (my mistress Aishwarya likes her jean hems to sit atop her upper ankleboot-rims, as she thinks that makes her look cool – which it does!)
· She the counts on me to keep a respectful distance from her brown boots and black socks throughout her date with her boyfriend – be they dancing; or watching a movie; or dining out together – but still to kneel close enough to her feet that I may diligently concentrate on them until such time as she orders me to deboot and desock her in preparation for her regular lovemaking with her boyfriend back in his student flat.
· She then counts on me to sniff and admire her hastily divested, and still warm, boots and socks in the corner of the master-sir’s bedroom during her actual act of joyous copulation with him.
· Next, she counts on me to put her boots and socks back onto her feet after she has got dressed again, and then escort her feet home, ready to lay down my life for her should anyone seek to attack or harass her on the way. Which I definitely would do – for I love my mistress Aishwarya, and she can always count on me to be good and protective slave to her.
· Finally, she counts on me to count out loud the number of stripes she gives me on my bare legs and buttocks with her rattan cane, as my mistress Aishwarya is a firm believer in caning her slave over the punishment trestle every night, in her sweaty, black-socked feet, before he retires to his basement cell to cry into said punishment-socks (lest he become complacent, and forget that he is constantly in her sweet feminine power and at her sweet feminine mercy!)
Yes, I shall be going to bed tonight with a sore and stinging, freshly striped behind, and my Indian mistress’s sweaty black bootsocks in my mouth – like I do most every night. You can count on that!
Asinine Anecdote no. 4 – Office-Manageress Mistress
40 year old, dark-haired (but greying), bespectacled, librarianesque office-manageress mistress Fiona is a very pernickety, not to say prickly, regular customer on my communal, office-corridor shoelick-stall! A bit of an office oddball, if truth be told!
Don’t get me wrong, I respect and admire her, as a male slave must do by law – not least because she is a manageress; but also due to her faded attractiveness, and because of her haughty and self-obsessed, managerial attitude. She also happens to favour wearing nice plain, navy-blue, leather courts and dark nylon stockings beneath her ubiquitous, dark-pinstriped, below-the-knee, officewear skirt. But boy is she hard to please when it comes to the tongueshining, and tongue-straightening of those very same, attractive shoes and nylons!
For a start – in a rather old-fashioned and quaint way – she insists on my politely kissing her shoes and nylons twenty times on each separate item of foot/leg wear. That’s 80 kisses in total! Most busy, working women just don’t have the time nowadays for such public-footslave niceties, and expect the dirty, office-corridor shoelick to launch immediately into the tongueshining of their office boots or shoes, without his first ‘courting’ them. But not mistress Fiona – she’s definitely old school, even though she’s not that old!
And so every time she takes up her seat of manageress-power on my sit-down shoelick-stall in the corridor outside her office, I must first wait patiently for her to settle her two superior, court-shoed feet onto the metal footrests in front of my subordinate, kneeling face, and then begin my humble servitude towards her by respectfully kissing her twenty times on the right shoe-toe; then twenty times on the left shoe-toe; then twenty times on the right nylon-stockinged anklebone; then twenty times on the left nylon-stockinged anklebone.
And not only that, but she will use the communal-use whipping-stick to point to the particular area of navy-blue, court shoe or dark, nylon stocking that she wants kissed – often a noticeably muddy patch on the shoe-toe; or a scuffmark; or a thin crease in the side of her nylon, invariably around her still shapely, feminine anklebone (certainly never higher than her ankle as, again, she is a traditional mistress with traditional values – and in her book footslaves never attend to a lady’s extremities above the ankle!).
And woe betide me if I don’t follow her reasonable management requests to the letter of the female law (as decreed by her). When she designates a particular stocking-crease to be kissed, she means it! Pernickety manageress-mistress Fiona is used to being obeyed, and is certainly not averse to utilising the office whipping-stick for its intended purpose – which is not, actually, as a pointer, but as an implement for punishment-beating the office-corridor footslave!
So, having successfully gotten through the trauma of micro-kissing her navy-blue leather shoes and dark nylon stockings, under her beady-eyed supervision and under constant threat of the whipping-stick, I am then permitted to lickshine her shoes – though again she will be quite specific as to the areas of her plain, court shoes my tongue must focus on; obviously – the dirtiest parts, so, often, where my lips have just been kissing, but she may also designate a far less accessible area of her shoes for tongue-cleaning – for example, at the base of the low-heels; or along the stitching of the navy-blue leather insteps.
To give her her due, mistress Fiona will always twist her office foot around on the footrest in order to afford my mouth the required access to the filthy area of shoe she wishes mouth-shined, but it is her similar gesture when subsequently inspecting my tonguework, through her horn-rimmed glasses, which terrifies me the most, for, again, I can be sure the whipping-stick will cut me open across my bare shoulders if she detects any residual street-dirt or grime on the supposedly licked-clean, leather areas!
If necessary, she will have me lick her shoes again and again, since they must be totally sparkling before she is ever satisfied with their condition, and before she will allow me to move on to her nylon stockinged ankles (believe me, making matt, navy-blue, court-shoe leather ‘sparkle’ and shimmer is never easy – no matter how much slave-saliva one uses! It’s not like they are already shiny, navy-blue, patent leather shoes!)
When it comes to her office stockings, customer-mistress Fiona is, again, quite idiosyncratic in her somewhat old-fashioned demands. She likes to have nice, straight, smooth nylons on her feet at all times – especially around her ankles – with no creases.
It is, of course, her perfect right to wear her nylons exactly as she chooses, and to her exacting demands. But it means that I am invariably required to humbly straighten out her dark-nylon, stocking creases, on her white anklebones, with my footslave-nose.
Again, this is quite rare nowadays; it’s called ‘nosing nylons’ – and most Gynarchy women wouldn’t even dream of asking a slave to ‘nose-straighten’ their nylons nowadays! If they wanted their stockings or tights straightened at all around their ankles they would merely order me to do it by hand – it’s much quicker and easier (providing I don’t inadvertently ladder the mistress’s stocking with my fumbling, slave fingers – for that, of course, would be a criminal offence here in the Gynarchy!)
But no – pernickety manager-mistress Fiona likes things done the old-fashioned way, so I must spend however long it takes straightening out and smoothing away her dark, office-nylon, ankle creases with my pitiful stocking-slave nose. Moreover, she ensures that I don’t take any pleasure from my demeaning, public chore by surreptitiously sniffing her nyloned feet (in the hope of catching a whiff of her fishy, female footsweat) by leaning down and listening to, as well as watching, what I am doing – ostensibly to make sure I don’t ‘miss’ a crease or fold in her nylons, but, in reality, as we both know, and as I have just indicated, to prevent me from lust-sniffing her warm and moist, fishy-aroma, nyloned feet inside her court shoes! (I think the distinctive smell of mistress Fiona’s feet has something to do with the chemical reaction of her foot-enzymes with the dark, nylon material of her stockings; plus, she is quite candid about the fact that she has a foot-fungal infection on her toes which she is finding very hard to get rid of!)
Then – once her shoes and stockings are finally brought to a condition she regards as satisfactory, and not a moment before – she demands that I ‘take my leave’ of her shoes and nylons by kissing them, once again, twenty times each (i.e. the full 80 kisses as described above!)
During this ‘by your leave’ process she lightens up a bit, and enjoys telling me all about her personal, mistressly problems – her irritable bowel syndrome; her loose stools; her aforementioned foot-fungal infection; her female doctor’s prognoses about her various ailments; her problems with her female colleagues at work; her problems at home in her relationship with her husband etc. etc.
Curiously, though, she does not permit me to converse back with her – and not just because she isn’t interested in hearing about my problems, but because she firmly believes that a communal, office-corridor footslave should be seen, and should kiss shoes and stockings, but should not be heard! I am, therefore, little more than an informal listening-counsellor, who quietly, and respectfully, listens to al her woes whilst paying homage to her superior shoes and lower nylons with his unworthy, silent, footslave lips!
It seems to help her – psychologically – to unburden herself on me, perhaps because I am lower than her, in every sense of the word, and she can therefore feel better about herself when she sees me having to kiss her shoes and nylons to her very precise, female stipulations and commandments!
Not all free men may respect her – but this slave-male has no choice!
Believe it or not, I actually feel a foolish sense of pride whenever she, eventually, steps down from the shoelick-throne in front of me, as I observe her freshly-licked shoes and dark nylons walking away from me. They look pristine – beneath her flapping, pinstriped skirt; and mistress Fiona herself seems much more content than when she came, not that a stuck-up, self-obsessed, middle-aged woman would say as much to me, of course!
Thank a slave for his good work? Unthinkable!
But I know in my heart that I have done a good job as her shoes are glistening; her nylons are straight around the ankles; and her heart is unburdened.
Oh, if only all busy office-mistresses dressed like her, looked like librarians, wore glasses, and took the female time to dominate me in such a pernickety and oddball manner!
Asinine Anecdote no. 5 – Sidewalk Face
I’m just a male face, buried upwards in the sidewalk for Gynarchy ladies to walk on.
The female authorities have cleverly positioned me so that my nose is at dirty ground level, so the female pedestrians barely feel a thing as they walk over me – just a slight, soft, squishy bump on the relevant sole of their shoe, boot or sandal.
But they all know I am there, and none of them seek to avoid me – for they know that being face-walked on for the rest of my life is part of my sentence of punishment. And they know I can only see up as far as their ankles – whether they are wearing skirts or trousers, so low am I lying; and therefore their feminine modesty is fully preserved as they nonchalantly walk over me.
Occasionally I catch a glimpse of an elasticated sock-top on bare skin – which only serves to remind me that even their hosiery is higher than me. I am nothing – like an insignificant slug they squash underneath their shoes and socks.
They care not if their spiked heels dig into my eye sockets, or my nasal passage; or my taped-up mouth (taped up to prevent their heels from falling into a hole!) But mostly it is clunky heels, and heavy, flat soles which casually press down on my face-flesh – only for a brief second as they walk along; soon to be followed by the next passer-by’s shoe, as this is a busy, city-centre sidewalk!
Every so often the pretty, Mexican-girl street-cleaner grinningly comes – in her luminescent, yellow jacket and trousers, and her dirty-grey, low-top, laced-up sneakers and matching grey socks. Of all the ladies who walk above me, only she stops to look down at me, and mock me – because it is her pleasant job to clean my face, by rubbing her thick, government-issue sneaker-treads across my ground-imprisoned face, scraping off the ingrained dirt from the other female pedestrians’ shoes! She also feeds me the scraps from her street-cleaner’s trolley – which is a blessing, for man, even a prisoner-slaveman, cannot live on female shoe and bootsole dirt alone!
At night, I lie alone – and fitfully sleep; only fitfully, as the streetwalkers, and nightclubbers, and dirty stop-outs are still out and about, and they too must walk along the pavements. But I must do my best to get some shut-eye in the small hours of the morning – before the early morning rush hour begins, and the streetwalkers’ stilettos are replaced by the constant stream of uncaring, low-heeled courts, and blocky-heeled ankleboots of multitudinous, female office-workers, all of whom think nothing of walking over a male prisoner-slave’s face on the dirty sidewalk on their way into work.
I hope, someday, to be granted some degree of clemency by the female authorities who put me here, and to be promoted to the prisoner-rank of human doormat, or human welcome mat – perhaps at the entrance to some female office or academic institution – so that the beautiful ladies above me can stop and wipe their feet on my upturned face; take the time to actually divest their shoe, boot and sneaker soles of their dirt and detritus, rather than just pass over me in a split second.
Who knows, with good behaviour and an uncomplaining attitude, I might even, some day, progress to the rank of doorstopper slave, and instead of being a footwipe, be a footkisser! Now that would be something! I would be something – and not just a faceless face in the ground!
‘Ha! Ha! How you are liking it, sore face? How you are liking dirt from lady shoes on your face and in your eyes? Ha! Ha! I wipe my dirty soles on your ugly face!’
Asinine Anecdote no. 6 – Sassy, but classy!
One of the best aspects of being a public footslave on the dimly-lit corner of a backstreet, city centre alleyway is that I get to lickshine the boots and shoes of all the best mistresses – including the local streetwalkers.
Like the shiny pink leather, but scuffmarked and well-used, ankle-length, doc-marten-style boots with the bright, yellow laces of the gum-chewing, black-girl streetwalker who currently has her long, right leg arrogantly stretched forwards onto the equally well-used, wooden footblock beneath my street-corner, kneeling face!
She is wearing thick, white cotton, thigh-high socks on her soft, black legs – socks with a blunt message for any lowlife footslave who dares to look at her up the sock – a message written in sassy, black letters all down the outer side of each long, white sock:
‘F*** Off Slave!’
I told you it was blunt – and to the point of her shapely, upper anklebone, above which, to be fair, as her sock so crudely reminds me, I should not be looking!
So her sock has told me, in no uncertain terms, where to go and what to do with my admiring eyes – I am to concentrate on her well-used, pink leather ankleboots, and remain only vaguely aware of her luscious, white sock towering so dominantly above me all the way up to her sumptuous, well-used, fleshy, black thighs since I am not, unlike her many freemale clients, a real man with female permission to look a superior woman in the groin, let alone up the leg!
Classy!
Asinine Anecdote no. 7 – The Fog of Footslave-Ignorance
She emerges from the early-morning fog down the otherwise deserted, city-centre alleyway where I am permanently chained to my public-footblock, and sullenly, silently, projects her right foot out onto the dew-covered, wooden footblock beneath my permanently kneeling and bowed face.
It is a very nice foot and ankle – slender; covered in frilly-white, creased anklesock; and clad in a common-or-garden, plain black leather ballet-flat.
The twenty-something owner of the black ballet-flat and lacy, white anklesock looks Polish to me, for some reason – dark haired; pale-skinned; high cheekbones; large, circular ear-rings; wearing a thick, black anorak (with the hood down), and a catholic-modesty preserving, knee-length, purple pleated skirt. But I can’t be 100% sure as to her ethnicity, as she isn’t saying anything. She is silent and morose like the fog.
I am assuming by the way she has twisted her right foot around to the side on my footblock that she wishes the instep of her black leather ballet-flat to be lickshined, though it could just be that she wishes the lacy side of her frilly, white anklesock to be kissed – the pure, white sock which blends in so well with her pasty-white ankleskin!
In my fog of public-footslave confusion I opt for the former, since I sense that kissing this mysterious, young (Polish?) woman on the sock would be deemed by her to be much too intimate a service on a first ‘date’ with a public footservant – especially this early in the morning!
I could be wrong, of course! She could be wandering the foggy back streets at this ungodly hour (it’s still before daybreak) specifically looking for some forbidden sock-love! But her surly and morose, East-European demeanour suggests otherwise – and so I play it safe and merely start to lickshine the side of her shoe.
She doesn’t object – so I must have read her foot-language correctly. I lick the side of her soft, leather shoe with ever more confidence and vigour.
The fog is showing signs of beginning to lift, and so, it seems, is her mood – as she suddenly leans down and gently strokes my shoelicking head with her soft, right, East-European-girl hand! Her other hand appears to be down the top of her skirt. Maybe she has a tummy ache?
I flinch momentarily – thinking that her right hand is about to strike me (as lowered female hands normally are in my position!). But no – she just ‘strokes’ my balding, middle-aged pate, dominantly, but at the same time ever so gently and lovingly!
Now I am truly afraid – for this is unchartered territory for me; an act of sympathy and compassion from a fog-bound mistress!
Her intentions are unclear to me, and I remain at her mercy. Why does she appear to feel sorry for me? What does she know that I don’t? Is she about to have me whipped, or something?
Tremblingly, I beg her for mercy – as I continue to lickshine her street-dirtied, ballet-flat instep. Please don’t hurt me mistress! I am in your power, Polish mistress!
At last, she lightens up – like the fog. She smiles, and the fog seems to instantaneously disappear!
She laughs at me, appears to sniff the fingers of her left hand, and tells me her name is ‘Lilitu’, and that she is dirty.
A ‘dirty’ mistress? That’s a bit of a turn up for the books – I’ve only ever heard of dirty slaves before!
And then she just backs away from me, back down into the alleyway from whence she came – as silently and mysteriously as she had emerged from the mists of time just a few moments ago!
‘Lilitu’? Enlighten me – is that a Polish name? I can’t place her accent. Perhaps you could do some research for me, on the Internet, for I am trapped here on my public-footblock, and remain in the fog of ignorance (thick fog which has, disappointingly, returned following mistress Lilitu’s sudden departure back down into the gloomy alleyway!)
Please help me! I need to know where this mysterious goddess came from, and whether I am likely to ever see her again?
Asinine Anecdote no. 8 – The Slave-Transporters
They call them ‘slave-transporters’ – large, motorised wagons consisting of a cage on the back in which we male slaves who have been sentenced by the Female Courts to life in the underground salt-mines can be viewed by all and sundry, and laughed at, on our ignominious way to the mines.
We are chained up on our hands and knees in the back of the cage, and invariably whipped – since that is normally an element of our punishment: to be whipped, and then sent to the slave mines for hard labour for life!
There are, however, one or two police-uniformed, female guards in the back of the cage also – just to make sure we show respect to our public tormentors as they mock us, point at us, laugh at us, and film us using their mobile phones, during our inglorious, final journey to the centre of the earth!
Some members of the female public do more than just mock and point! They poke us with sticks though the bars of the cage during the frequent ‘fun-stops’ along the way (so called because the cage-transporter deliberately stops at set intervals precisely to allow our free, female betters to, literally, poke fun at us should they so wish to; and I’ve noticed how the ends of the poking-sticks always seem to find their way onto a fresh whip-wound – very sore!)
Worst of all, however, it is not uncommon for a gleeful, member-of-the-public mistress to place her pretty foot on the lower bar of the cage beneath one of our kneeling noses, and require us to kiss it.
Take the young, black woman who has just done so to me, for example – a broad, happy grin on her pretty, black face as she places her black, laced-up ked onto the bar directly below my chained and bowed head near the edge of the cage, and orders me to kiss her dusty, black shoe-toe!
Her matching, dusty black anklesock is all twisted around her soft, brown ankle beneath the hem of her black cotton legging, but still I have to do as she says, and kiss her unkempt footwear – for the whips of the female, police van-guards are never far from our backs in the back of this cage, and there is just enough room for them to swing a cat-o-nine-tails!
And so I lower my lips to the proffered rubbery-smelling, shoe toe, and the female wearer of the black sneaker and sock laughs at me, and films me – for her social networking page, no doubt:
‘Yo, look at me – having my dirty sneakers kissed by a footslave-prisoner in the back of a cage! Ha! Ha!’
She then orders me to kiss the creased top of her black cotton anklesock – salty with sweat.
With her eventual, black-girl permission, the cage driver moves on, and, pathetically, I find myself licking the residual rubbery taste of the black girl’s dirty sneaker-toe, and her salty sock-sweat, off my lips, and savouring the mix. For I know it may well be the last civilian girl’s footwear I ever taste, if the cage has no more ‘fun-stops’ along the way. It will only be the black leather kneeboots of my uniformed, salt-mine taskmistresses that I get to taste from now on, once I am ensconced for life in the underground slave-mines.
I wonder if their black leather, reinforced boot-toes will taste salty, like the natural salt surrounding them (and the sweat-salt on the mocking black girl’s twisted, civilian anklesock)?
Asinine Anecdote no. 9 – Ginger Snap!
She’s a stunningly beautiful, tall and slim, red-headed office-manageress - with a fiery temper to match!
Indeed, office-manageress-mistress Caroline always seems to be in a ginger-snappy mood whenever she is utilising my ornamental-footkissing facilities in the office-restroom – so much so that she abuses her position of absolute female power over me, using me as an ‘unofficial’ office-shoelick to tongueshine her patent black leather, high-heeled, office pumps!
Someone should tell her that that is not supposed to be my role! There is an official shoelick down the corridor; my role is merely to kiss ladies’ feet and footwear as they enter and egress the restroom. But, of course, I can’t tell her that – being a dumb piece of human, ornamental furniture – and nobody else, it seems, is willing to tell her, especially since they all know full well that she knows I’m not supposed to lickshine her office shoes, and merely has me do so in order to demonstrate her bad-tempered power over the lowliest of male slaves!
She even uses the pointing stick to indicate the areas of shiny, black shoe beneath her ubiquitous, black polyester trouser-hems, that she wishes me to lickshine – the shapely insteps; the three-inch heels; the pointy toes. And, although she can’t beat me across the bare back and shoulders with such pointing stick (which is purely designed for a lady to point to the area of her shoe or foot she wishes kissed) as only my head and neck are exposed from the inner wall of the restroom, office-manageress Caroline nevertheless frequently beats me across the face with it – even in full view of other office-mistresses.
They could report her to the female owners of the building for caning me about the face – but they don’t, of course; partly because they fear her fiery temper themselves; and partly because they find her behaviour funny!
Oh how frustrating it is for my ornamental-footkisser lips to be so near, and yet so far, from her pasty-white toe-cleavage inside her shiny, black leather pumps – for miss Caroline, a creature of habit, never wears stockings or socks inside her shoes! She always goes sweaty-bare-foot inside her pumps – I can smell them; and it’s not just her clammy, white toe-cleavage I yearn to kiss – it’s the tiny freckle on her outer, left anklebone (always visible as I lickshine her left shoe as she (helpfully?) hitches up her black polyester trouser-hems before presenting me with her patent leather pumps to be lickshined!); it’s the prominent blue vein running down the front of her pasty-white, right foot – all the way from the top of her shapely ankle down below the shiny, black shoeline; it’s the pinky-white, hardened skin at the backs of her heels (well, if she will not wear socks!).
But all of these fantastic foot-features are barred to me as I instead must lickshine her outer, office shoeleather – despite not being a lickshiner!
Still, what else is a humble slave to do, other than obey the snapped commands of his ginger-haired mistress, whatever they are? I mean, she is the mistress – and I am the slave; it’s not for me to question her orders, even if they do take the biscuit!
Asinine Anecdote no. 10 – Muslim Police-Officer Mistress Samira
2o year old, Muslim, female-police officer-mistress Samira often stops by me to beat me, and utilise my female-police-boot-licking services.
She has every right to, given that my sink-estate, public bootlick-stall is on her beat.
I love the way – petite of stature though she is – she seems to tower above me in her chunky-heeled, round-toed, black leather, zipped-up, police-uniform kneeboots and navy-blue, police-officer uniform, complete with stylish, navy-blue headscarf. I also admire the way her handcuffs, pepper spray, and brown leather punishment strap dangle threateningly from her shapely, police-officer waistbelt just inches above my kneeling head – especially when it reaches the upper rims of her kneeboots beneath her navy-blue, uniform skirt.
They remind me that she is well-equipped to hurt me and to punish me if I permit my eyes to stray upwards onto her dark, police-officer nylons covering her shapely, Arab-girl kneebones – knees which have, no doubt, dug into many a male miscreant’s back as she throws him onto the dirty ground and arrests him!
I fear her – and so would never disrespect her by lusting after her nylons. She is my better – and a young woman in power and authority; therefore I cow before her, and respectfully lick the street-dirt off her beat-pounding boots, especially along the dusty soles and insteps.
She still finds occasion to beat me, though – with her leather punishment strap, just for the crime of being male and enslaved, and to reassure the female gang-members on the local sink-estate that it is okay for them also to take out their young-womanly anger and frustrations on a dirty, public footslave like myself; to beat me, and to kick me, is not a crime – it’s a female, public duty!
Yes, slave-bullying officer-mistress Samira is a shining example of female law and order, and is a much loved, and much admired, local beat officer! All the local, young women on the sink-estate where she patrols look up to her – though not literally so, as I must do!
